Jist Blethers
by fififolle
Summary: Why don’t they understand him? Carson sometimes thinks he’s more alien than anything in the Pegasus. A bunch of Carson oneshots for fun. COMPLETE.
1. Pure Poetry

**Disclaimers**: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc.

**Spoilers: **see chapter notes.

**A/N: **Always have a few Carson moments hopping around aimlessly. Needed a hutch for them. Any requests? No sheep jokes, please ;)

**Summary:** Why don't they understand him? Carson sometimes thinks he's more alien than anything in the Pegasus. A bunch of Carson oneshots for fun.

* * *

**A/N Chapter One:** Written for Burn's Night – January 25th. We Scots like to celebrate our famous poet. Only spoilers for Duet.

* * *

**Chapter One: Pure Poetry**

Carson smiled as the pretty young woman placed a mug of steaming hot tea down in front of him.

"Thanks, lass. I'll see you later."

McKay, who had been shocked at the little interruption, now almost choked on his breakfast. "What was all that about? 'See you later'? Who's she? Why's she bringing you tea…?"

"Easy, Rodney! Remember your blood pressure. She's just a friend. She's helping me with something." The Scottish doctor flashed McKay a happy smile.

The Canadian was almost apoplectic. "Helping you? With what? Does Cadman know?"

"Keep your voice down! Of course she knows. I'm using the kitchen after lunch. Going to make haggis. Lovely Lucy there organised what I needed along with the weekly meat trade from MX-what's-it's-name."

McKay's face screwed up. "Ew. Haggis. Isn't that, like, sheep guts or something?"

"No, not technically, Rodney." Carson sipped at his tea, and sighed blissfully, "Oh, that's grand. Can't beat a good cuppa. No, see, it's Burn's night tonight. I'm going to show Laura a bit of Scottish culture. You know, haggis, Irn Bru, poetry…"

McKay snorted. "Carson, Irn Bru isn't culture. It's just consumerism. And how much of Burn's poetry have you read, exactly?"

Carson looked a little sheepish. "Some."

"Go on, then, fire away." McKay leaned back and folded his arms.

Clearing his throat, Carson began, "Let's see…em… O, my love's like a red, red, rose…"

McKay, looking away, made a rolling motion with his hand in encouragement.

"Er, I don't know any more…"

"I thought so." The Canadian leaned forward on the table and looked into his friend's eyes. "Ten out of ten for trying, I guess."

"Aw, thanks pal. S'no as if you could do any better. Look, I'm a doctor, not a Scottish Studies graduate. Listen, It's just a bit of fun. We'll have haggis and Irn Bru and it'll be good. OK?" He pouted a bit, crossing his arms.

They sat in silence, Carson huffing now and again.

"Em, Carson? Am I invited, or is it just the two of you?" McKay spoke quietly, hopefully.

The right side of Carson's mouth lifted as he eyed the scientist opposite him. "Aye, Rodney, you're invited. If you like, you could help make the haggis this afternoon. I could do with a hand. You can chop the pluck."

"I beg your pardon?" McKay gulped.

"Pluck. It's the animal parts for the haggis. You know, you use the windpipe, lungs, stuff like that. But not the guts. You save that to make a bag to stuff it into."

McKay swallowed, his face turning a shade of green. "Oh, I think I'm gonna…" He tucked his chin into his chest as he pushed himself off the chair and legged it for the door.

Carson leaned back, sighing. "Shame. It's right tasty when it's done." He shook his head, grinning, and muttered after his friend, "Ye cow'rin, tim'rous beastie."

* * *

A/N: Carson's final words are those of Burns, in "To a Mouse", describing a frightened animal, hehe. Hope you enjoyed! Sorry if I spoiled your breakfast or anything… 


	2. Ya Wee Beauty

**A/N:** Scotland beat France at rugby last weekend – hooray! Kinda gave a little inspiration for this wee morsel. 

In case anyone is wondering, 'Jist Blethers' is Scottish for a lot of nonsense.

Ya Wee Beauty is an exclamation of joy at success or approval, I guess. Literally, 'you little beauty'.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Ya Wee Beauty**

"Rodney… I fear there is something wrong." The Czech accent cut through the low background hum of the lab.

Dr Rodney McKay looked up from the Ancient device he was studying. "Huh?"

Dr Radek Zelenka made nervous movements of his mouth, twisting his lips from side to side. "Carson has not contacted you."

McKay put the device down. "I don't get you."

Zelenka made a gesture with his hands, as if grasping an unseen object. "You told me Carson wanted you for your fitness medical this afternoon. You have not gone to the infirmary. Carson has not berated you over the radio. Even when he wanted to see you about the retrovirus, and Sanchez broke his arm, he let you know he was busy. Something is _wrong_."

McKay furrowed his brow. "Wrong? What kind of wrong? One decimal place wrong, or cream in coffee wrong?"

Zelenka finally cracked, and strode over to the Chief of Science. He knew McKay was in his immature mode, not his deity mode, and therefore his intended action would be acceptable. Zelenka poked McKay in the chest with one finger. "Go… and … see… what… is… wrong… with… Carson."

McKay stared down at the finger prodding his chest, and pouted. "Ouch. OK, OK, I'm going." He slipped off his stool and headed for the door, muttering, "I'm going already, jeez."

0o0o0

"Right, Carson, I'm here…" McKay blundered into Beckett's office, scanning quickly for the Scottish doctor. "Radek said I should just turn up anyway, I know I'm late… Carson? Hey, are you here?"

The Canadian had another look around the office, but didn't see anyone, so he shrugged and turned around.

"_OwerhereRdney."_

McKay froze, hearing the 'voice'. Frowning, he turned around. Beckett was hauling himself out from under his desk, looking extremely dishevelled.

"Carson? Are you OK?" McKay stood by the desk and studied the doctor, his arms folded.

Beckett slumped down into the chair, grinning but groaning. "Bloody hell. My head hurts."

"Carson? Are you drunk?" McKay eyed Beckett suspiciously.

The Scot's eyes flew open. "Lord, no, Rodney! Oh, ow. Give us a wee bit warning there, will you?" He rubbed his head.

"Are you OK? Do you need a nurse, or.. something?" McKay leaned over the desk, worried a little.

Beckett waved dismissively. "Naw. I'm OK. Just, got a bit carried away, I was kinda… dancing… and I think I fell over, musta hit my head."

McKay sniffed. "You _have_ been drinking."

Beckett swallowed, glancing down sheepishly. "Maybes."

McKay stood up straight, arms crossed once more. "OK. What gives? Personal celebration? Must have been one helluva reason."

A crooked smile fell across Beckett's face. "We won. Again."

McKay cocked his head, puzzled. "Who? When?"

Beckett jiggled his head from side to side triumphantly. "Scotland. World Champions. Third year running."

"OK, Carson. Now I know you've had too much. How hard did you hit your head?"

"No. no, it's true. We did. We are."

"Yeah, right. Come on, Let's get you some coffee, we don't want Elizabeth to see you like this…" McKay made to take hold of Carson's arm.

Scrabbling around the desk with one hand, while he waved McKay away with the other, Beckett gave a shout of triumph as his hand landed on a piece of paper. "See! See! It's true!"

McKay took the proffered sheet of paper. It was a letter, stamped with the USAF clearance familiar from Daedalus-delivered mail. He looked it over quickly. He almost choked.

"Elephant polo? Scotland are the World Elephant Polo Champions?"

Beckett grinned cockily. "Aye."

"Right. That's enough." McKay took a firm hold of Beckett and hauled the Scotsman to his feet. "We need to fix you up and have a serious talk about sport, not to mention inappropriate use of alcohol." With his jaw thrust out, McKay proceeded to drag Beckett to the door.

"Third year… ya wee beauty!" Beckett let himself be led away.

* * *

**A/N:** Sadly, we lost, so it was only two years in a row. Such is the joy of fanfiction! 

And the moral is… Please enjoy alcohol responsibly! Even when Scotland wins.


	3. Cool

**A/N:** This chapter is around 2300 words long, to warn you. Here it is at last Fanwoman, **the kilt**! Hope everyone enjoys this! In case anyone is interested, I'm giving Carson the Colquhoun tartan, since Beckett does not actually have a tartan as far as I can tell LOL. The Colquhoun clan came from the region of Scotland by Loch Lomond, near where I based my Carson-history in a previous fic. Interestingly, the clan motto is "If I Can" which fits Carson rather well, I think. 

I have taken a deliberate liberty with a military detail, see the note at the end of the chapter.

Thanks to the talented saclateri.

**Glossary:**  
haud yer wheesht – be quiet  
yous – Scottish plural of you, of course  
cannae - cannot

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**Chapter Three: Cool**

Major Sheppard, Lieutenant Ford and Teyla Emmagan stood in the 'gateroom, waiting for Carson to be ready. The Scottish doctor looked hot and flustered, and they hadn't even stepped foot on M3R-106. Simpson had reported the climate as 'pleasantly warm and wet' and McKay had translated that as 'insufferably humid'.

Dr Elizabeth Weir looked down over the deck from the control room. "Major Sheppard? Is there a problem?"

Sheppard looked up. "No. No problem Elizabeth." He pointed at Dr Beckett. "Ford, Teyla and myself are raring to go. We're just letting the Doc here gather his thoughts."

Carson's look shot daggers at Sheppard. "I'm just making sure I've got everything, son. No point trailing all the way to the settlement and finding I've forgotten the needles. So haud yer wheesht, laddie, or it'll be you feeling a needle."

Elizabeth chuckled. "I see. Well, don't keep the Merran's waiting too long. From what Sergeant Stackhouse said, I don't think they have time to waste."

Carson looked up, hoisting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Aye, all right, Dr Weir, I'm ready now. I'm just saying, I don't want to forget anything. OK, Major, let's get this over with."

Elizabeth nodded, raised a hand to Sheppard, and the four of them stepped through the event horizon. Carson was last to slip through, head down, his bag banging against his hip.

The leader of Atlantis turned to the man sitting at the control console. "Have you ever known Carson to forget anything, Peter?"

"Never. I believe Dr Beckett was merely staving off the inevitable." The Brit grinned.

She folded her arms. "Hmm. I thought so."

0o0o0

Carson looked up at Sheppard, who had entered the dwelling hut. "Ah, Major. There you are."

"What's the verdict, then, Doc?" he leaned against the doorframe, and wiped his hand over his forehead.

"I'm going to need to go back to Atlantis. I completed the vaccinations, but there are two villagers who need treatment for the virus. We have to come back as soon as we can."

Sheppard sighed. "All right. Are we ready to head back now?"

"Aye. Teyla is just explaining all that to the Merran elders. We can leave as soon as she's done."

Sheppard nodded, and looked out into the 'street', although in all truth the village was barely more than a cluster of primitive shelters in a muddy clearing.

"Major…" Carson spoke quietly, apologetically.

"Yes, Doc?" The Major turned round, giving the Scot his attention.

"I just wanted to… apologise. You know I don't like 'gate travel, but it was no excuse. You, Stackhouse… you set up this trip because you knew these people needed me, and all I've done is moan and gripe. I'm sorry, lad. You… they… deserve better."

Sheppard waved a hand airily. "Aw, it's OK, Doc. We all know you're a bit nervous about house calls. But don't worry… we'll make a soldier out of you yet."

"But I don't…" Carson's retort was cut off by Teyla entering the hut.

"Major Sheppard, Dr Beckett. The elders send their thanks, and they look forward to our return for the sake of the two men who are ill."

Carson hurriedly packed the last of his gear into the medical bag, and muttered. "Good, good, let's get going then. No time to waste."

An hour later the four-strong team had almost reached the 'gate. Carson stopped for a moment, his hands on his hips, as he waited for the others to catch up. Sheppard took another deliberate stride across a marshy tussock, giving Lieutenant Ford an encouraging clap on the back.

"Not far now, Ford. Keep those legs moving."

Ford balanced himself as best he could atop a tussock and bent down with his hands on his knees, to take a breather. He looked up at his commanding officer. "This landscape is dire, sir. It was bad enough one way, but this… At least we know there's no way a puddlejumper could land."

Teyla nodded, as she carefully picked her way across the ridges. "It would not be so hard if it were not so humid. I find it fascinating that Dr Beckett does not appear troubled by this terrain."

The two military men looked ahead at Carson. The Scot had his arms crossed, and was looking down at them all, from where he stood. He looked commanding, balanced on the island of grassy land, watching them struggle along.

Sheppard and Ford exchanged glances.

"Yeah, Doc. What's your secret?" Ford asked.

Carson ran a hand through his damp hair. "It's bloody hot here, I'm feeling it all right, but this tussocky grass is just like home. Boggy, marshy, lumps. You cannae beat it for a good walk." He grinned at them. "Now come on, let's get a move on. I need to get back and prepare for the return journey." He turned quickly and leapt forward, making strides 'gatewards. He ignored the groans he heard behind him.

0o0o0

"Incoming wormhole." Peter Grodin kept his eyes on the laptop screen as Elizabeth came up behind him.

"IDC?" She queried.

"Yes, it's Major Sheppard."

"Let them in."

The wormhole materialised with a familiar rush, and she watched Dr Beckett lead the team through the 'gate. 'Last out, first back' she thought with amusement, but then frowned as she studied the state of the rest of the team. Lieutenant Ford looked positively drained, and even Teyla had a faint sheen of sweat on her skin. Concerned, she hurried down the steps to meet the Major.

"John! What happened? Is everything all right?" She tried to sound calm.

Sheppard gave her a weak smile as he cradled his P90 loosely in his arms.

"Sure. We're just a bit… exhausted, frankly. The terrain was hard going. But the Doc got all the villagers vaccinated. He wants to get back ASAP and treat a couple of sick folks though. We're going to freshen up a bit and go straight back."

She raised an eyebrow. Behind the Major, she'd seen a purposeful Dr Beckett unzip his jacket and head off to the infirmary, medical bag banging his hip as he went.

"Carson doesn't seem to be exhausted." Her statement conveyed a question.

Sheppard huffed. "The Doc was like a mountain goat, springing over the swamp. I dunno, first we can't drag him there, then he can't wait to go back." He shrugged, and smiled. "I'm going to grab a shower."

She stood aside to let the other three leave the 'gateroom. Carson had been surprising her from day one in Antarctica, and she knew he had plenty more where that had come from. She just didn't know how right he was soon to prove her.

0o0o0

"I knew this would happen." Sheppard muttered. He tapped his radio. "Dr Beckett, please respond." He turned to Ford, who just shrugged. "He was the one in such a rush, where is he?"

"_Go ahead, Major Sheppard."_ The airy brogue of the Scottish doctor came across the radio.

"Beckett! Where are you? We're all waiting."

"I'm literally approaching the 'gateroom now. Just had to repack my gear and get ready."

Sheppard let out a sigh and nodded to Grodin, who was waiting for the signal to start dialling.

A hush fell over the Marines on duty in the 'gateroom when Carson Beckett stepped through the sliding doors. Sheppard, Teyla and Ford turned and stared.

Carson strode into the 'gateroom wearing a dark green and blue kilt, which swung jauntily as he headed up the steps. The plaid was criss-crossed with thin lines of red and white, giving it a bold and striking appearance. His dark socks and stout boots were now totally visible, as his hairy lower legs were bare for all to see. His knees made the occasional appearance as he walked. A glaringly white sleeveless cotton vest with a rounded neck was all he wore on his upper torso. The straps of a large drab olive green Bergen rucksack dug into his shoulders.

"What are all of yous staring at?" Carson asked, looking around at all the open mouths and incredulous expressions.

Sheppard managed to hold back a smile as he said, "You, Doc. Look what you're wearing. Where did you get that… skirt?"

"Ye cheeky wee bugger. This is my kilt." Carson looked up towards the control room and shouted, "I told you it would come in useful, Peter!"

Grodin hurried over to the balcony and stared down for a moment. "Gordon Bennett." he murmured, and scurried back to his console.

Ford was walking in a slow circle around the doctor, a look of concentration on his face.

Carson followed Ford's path with his eyes. "Wearing a kilt is extremely comfortable in difficult terrain, lad. Keeps a breeze flowing…" his voice trailed as he watched the Lieutenant stalk him, "…prevents chafing…"

"Hey, Doc. Is that the kind of Bergen I think it is?" Ford seemed to be half-listening to Carson, but had noticed something about the rucksack that made his eyes light up with excitement.

Sheppard interjected, "Why? What kind is it?"

Ford answered for the Scot, knowing he was right. "Royal Marines Commando kit. From the 1990's I reckon. Standard issue, if you could call it that. Nothing standard about those guys. Best damn troops in the world." Ford was grinning like a kid in a candy store.

Carson rolled his eyes, his hands on his hips. "Aye, all right, just tell everyone. Sheesh. Cannae keep a secret round here."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? Well, well. Looks like you're revealing more than just your legs, Doc."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! I'm just trying to be comfortable on that bloody planet. My kilt and my Bergen are just the ticket, OK? Now leave me be." He folded his bare arms across his chest.

Elizabeth had come out of her office when Peter called her through. She looked down into the 'gateroom at the suggestion of her right hand man. Seeing Carson in his revealing garb, with no medical bag in sight, just an enormous military-looking rucksack, was a sight indeed.

She looked over her shoulder to Peter, and spoke quietly. "He looks like an advert for breakfast oats."

Peter grinned wickedly, and opened the wormhole to M3R-106.

Elizabeth watched the doctor stride through the event horizon, the tight pleats at the back of his kilt swinging from side to side, and his huge arms as plain as day.

0o0o0

Once again, it was Carson who was in the best shape when the long walk was over. They'd reached the village in good time, but Carson was the only one who looked fresh. The doctor set to work tending the two sick men, while the others accepted food and drink gratefully.

Carson whistled a rousing tune as he set up the infusions and attached small monitors to the two patients. Sheppard watched from the corner, amazed at the transformation of the medic. The Scot was no longer a timid academic squinting into the glare of the alien galaxy. He was some kilted warrior grinning into the face of doom. Sheppard gave up trying to figure it out, and tried to catch a nap before it was his turn to patrol.

It was close to nightfall when Carson declared himself finished, and ready to head back to Atlantis. The sick villagers were on the mend, and the elders had specific instructions on their future care. By the time the team got back to the 'gate, even Carson was feeling the strain. In the last light of dusk, they left the planet and travelled the wormhole back to their city.

0o0o0

Elizabeth Weir and Rodney McKay were waiting at the foot of the stairs as the wormhole shut down. Peter Grodin had contacted the Chief of Science to pass on the juicy details about Carson, including the mystery military history. He didn't think McKay would appreciate missing the sight of Carson in a kilt, and the speed with which McKay had reached the 'gateroom had shown him he was right.

Funny thing was, McKay was rendered speechless by the sight of the Scottish wonder, and was failing to deliver any of his intended barbs.

Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back, and gave a tight smile as Carson sauntered over. She raised one eyebrow teasingly.

"Good day, Carson?"

"Indeed it has been, Dr Weir." Carson replied cheerily, enjoying a glance or two at the dumbstruck Canadian. "Mission accomplished."

She cocked her head. "You look quite at home in that get-up. Suits you."

He gave her a half grin, almost smug. "Aye. Feels right good." He tucked his thumbs into the waist webbing of his Bergen, and patted the belt proudly.

McKay's mouth finally dropped right open. He managed to sputter, "Are you really Commando?"

Carson blushed a little. "Not in front of a lady, Rodney," he mumbled, gesturing with a nod to Elizabeth.

McKay's brow furrowed in confusion. Sheppard and Ford came up behind Carson, grinning like idiots at the look on McKay's face.

"Come on, McKay." Sheppard encouraged. "We're not just talking about his military background here, are we?" The Major pointed exaggeratedly to Carson's kilt.

McKay's eyes were impossibly wide as it dawned on him, and he shot a glance at Elizabeth who was chuckling. He stuttered, "I didn't mean… I don't want to know… I wasn't…"

Carson buried his face in one hand as he shook his head. "Oh, Lord. I'll never live this down."

McKay buried his face in two hands. "Neither will I."

Elizabeth left the mortified friends and headed for the stairs, saying over her shoulder, "It's OK, Carson, the look on your face said it all."

Sheppard, Ford and Teyla headed to clean up, arguing over the various methods of avoiding chafing on long walks.

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**A/N:** It is a sad truth that Royal Marines (part of UK military, Naval control) are not actually issued with a Bergen, they have to buy their own as far as I know, and I'm not kidding. 

In case anyone is not aware, 'commando' is to wear no underwear. Traditionally, no underwear is worn with a kilt ;)


	4. International Whispers

**Disclaimers**: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc.

**Summary:** Why don't they understand him? Carson sometimes thinks he's more alien than anything in the Pegasus. A bunch of Carson oneshots for fun.

**A/N:** This one's written for Calum!

It just slipped into the queue, hope you like...

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**Chapter Four: International Whispers**

Major Sheppard placed his tray of food down on the table. He slipped into the chair and pulled himself in. The other occupant of the table was a slightly scruffy man in glasses, wearing a yellow fleece jacket to keep out the Antarctic cold.

Sheppard offered the man a friendly grin and his hand. "Hi. You must be Dr Zelenka, the Engineer."

The sandy-haired man looked up at the Major hesitantly, and then spoke with a heavy Czech accent. "Yes. I arrived this morning. You are Major Sheppard." He shook the Major's hand.

Sheppard cocked his head and shrugged. "Yeah. Guess I am. Nice to meet you." He lifted his fork from his tray and began eating.

"You have the gene?" Zelenka was clearly a shy individual, but the chance to question the 'Midas man' was too good to pass up.

Sheppard nodded, swallowing his mouthful. "Yup. Kinda got me the job."

Zelenka smiled. "It will be very interesting working with you. I am looking forward also to meeting Dr McKay. When does he return?"

"Uh, Wednesday, I think." Sheppard replied. That's what he thought Dr Weir had said. The longer the better, as far as he was concerned. With Rodney away for a few days, he was getting some peace.

"I was not aware that we were doing any work in Giza at the moment." Zelenka said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Huh?" Sheppard was confused.

"Dr McKay. He is in Egypt, yes?"

Sheppard screwed up his face. "No he isn't. He's in Russia."

"Russia? But Dr Beckett said he was in Egypt." Zelenka was confused as well.

"In Egypt? Beckett said that?"

Zelenka nodded. "Yes. He was talking to Dr Weir. Dr Beckett told her that McKay had told him to sit in the Chair while he was away, and that McKay's in Egypt."

A slow smile spread across Sheppard's face. Then his lips parted as his grin showed his teeth. Then he gripped the edge of the table with both hands and couldn't help roar with laughter. He tipped forward, clutching his middle as he chuckled himself hoarse.

Zelenka adjusted his glasses, looking concerned. "Is it something I have said, Major?"

Sheppard was shaking his head as he tried to compose himself.

"An eejit! He was calling McKay an eejit. An _idiot._ Do you see? It's the way he says it. McKay's an eejit." Sheppard gave Zelenka his best Scottish accent as he translated the miscommunication.

Zelenka frowned. "Oh. But that is strange. Dr McKay is an eminent astrophysicist and the world's greatest mind when it comes to wormhole theory. I am not sure I understand."

Sheppard smiled. "Yeah, I know, but wait 'til you meet McKay. Let's just say he can make life difficult for Dr Beckett. _Then_ you'll understand."

* * *

**A/N: **Poor old Rodney. I don't know why he's the focus of all these Carson shots. Maybe it's revenge. And if you think this one's bad, what I've got lined up in future will make you pale... 


	5. The Stuff of Nightmares

**Disclaimers**: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc.

**A/N:** Bagpipes for Vecturist, the rest for whump-lovers everywhere…. (evil cackle)  
Apologies to the character of Cadman, who I actually like…

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Stuff of Nightmares**

Laura patted the space on the couch beside her, doing her best to look seductive. It wasn't easy in a BDU. If she'd known she was going to fall for a Hot Scot she would have brought her red dress.

"Come here, Carson. I'm getting lonely."

The man was dithering about with glasses and drinks, but eventually made it to the couch, and gingerly sat down, doing his utmost to avoid physical contact.

"So, Carson…" Laura ran her finger around the rim of her glass, "tell me all about yourself…" She leaned forward a little and batted her eyelids.

Carson's gulped hard. "Well…" That kind of came out at the wrong octave, so he tried again. "Well, I enjoy reading comic books. Specifically, The Broons and Oor Wullie…"

She didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about, but she smiled sweetly, and blinked more than necessary for full effect, as he nervously twittered on. When she began wondering if she needed to call a linguist for translation, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

She put her glass down and slipped along the couch, putting her arms on either side of Carson so that he was effectively caged at the end of the couch.

"That sounds fascinating, Carson. Maybe you could show me. I _love_ learning all about you." As she leaned closer and closer, she was so close she heard him whimper.

It was all too much for Carson, and he burst free from her, leaping to his feet. He began pacing the floor.

"Well, aye, this is all very nice, Cadma… Laura. But maybes we're moving a wee bit fast. Em… I'm sure you'd like to get to know me better before we… er…I havnae even wooed you yet, lass…" He froze, and he raised a pointed finger in the air. "Aha!" He dashed into the corner and began raking through the closet.

Puzzled, Laura watched as he found what he was looking for. She couldn't believe her eyes. She was sure she knew what _they_ were…

"My bagpipes!" Carson called triumphantly. "Jist the thing for wooing a lassie!"

What the hell was he talking about? Wooing? Wasn't that what they did in the olden days? And what the hell was he doing with bagpipes? She shrugged inside. Oh, well, maybe it would be fun. She smiled.

"Lovely, Carson!"

Ten minutes later she crawled to her quarters, feigning a headache, leaving Carson with a concerned, oblivious, but happy smile on his red face.

0o0o0

As she entered the mess hall for an early breakfast, Laura spied Rodney McKay huddled at a far table. The guy looked like crap. Once she'd filled her tray, she figured she'd sit with McKay. Sure, the two of them had their differences, but… they had an undeniable connection.

"Morning, Rodney. You look like crap."

The Canadian took his head off his arms and looked up, his mouth almost a snarl. "Why, thank you, Cadman. I appreciate your comment so much."

She sipped her tea and studied the Chief of Science. "You're up early."

McKay rolled his eyes. "Are you just going to state the obvious? Because if so, you can leave now." He put his head back down on his folded arms.

She frowned. He had her worried now. She reached out and touched his arm, speaking softly. "What's up, Rodney? Are you OK?"

Bleary eyes came up to meet hers after a long moment. The lost puppy look almost melted her, but she drew upon all her military training to survive.

His quiet, broken voice hit her hard. "I had a nightmare."

She pursed her lips. "I thought you old guys had them all the time?"

He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed. "By old guys, I assume you mean original team members, and no, we do not all have Wraith nightmares every night, I can assure you. That's just a vicious rumour to scare off any no-hopers." He sighed. "I've never had a nightmare before. Well, not in this galaxy. But last night… Oh God…" He squeezed his eyes shut.

Laura wondered why they didn't teach you about helpless scientists at the academy. She squeezed his arm. "It's OK, Rodney. Tell me what happened."

His eyes were wide, his mouth quivering. "I dreamt a Wraith was feeding on my _cat_. It was horrible, Cadman. My poor cat, screaming and howling in pain…" he made a kind of whimper that made Laura gulp.

Looking into McKay's eyes, she saw a fear that reminded her of Carson. Then it struck her.

"When was this, Rodney? Just now?"

"No, no. It was late last night. I haven't slept at all." He sighed.

She managed not to smile. Well, Carson's bagpipes were useful for something. Much as it disturbed her to see McKay in this state, it was kind of amusing, if you thought about it. Carson's bagpipes inducing cat-torture nightmares. She had to muster all her strength to keep the lid on the guffaw. It was only justice after all. The way Carson told it, this man in front of her had caused her beloved Scot a whole bunch of distress. From enforced Chair sitting, to non-cooperation with medical direction. So her sympathy was pretty limited, actually. But solving McKay's problem would also benefit her… so…

"Rodney, that sounds awful, really. But it was just a bad dream. Now you've talked about it, I'm sure you won't have any more… or many more, anyway…"

"Oh, thanks. Cheer up the tormented scientist, why don't you?"

She leaned forward and patted his arm. "It'll get better, Rodney. Trust me."

0o0o0

Laura pushed the piece of cotton wool a little further into her ear, and knocked on the door. For crying out loud, you'd think a city like this would have doorbells.

"Cadma… Laura, come away in." Carson grinned happily.

"Hello Carson." She batted shy eyelids at him. Man, this was easy.

"Can I get you anything? Drink? Snack?" he led the way into his quarters.

"Sweetheart…?" She put her arm through his. "I'd like you to play your bagpipes for me… please?" She put just enough beg into it to make sure.

"Really?" He was clearly pleased.

"Oh, yes. They really… get me in the mood." Just one or two blinks.

Carson gulped. "Aye, OK, then."

Five minutes later her jaw muscles hurt from smiling so much, and she managed to get near enough to ply him from the contraption.

"Carson, I think that's enough. I mean, when you're playing, you look so… homesick. It reminds you of home, doesn't it? I don't want to upset you. Maybe you should put them away. I love you playing, but I'd rather not make you sad…" She kissed his cheek.

Carson sighed happily. "Aye, you're right, lass. It does make me a wee bit homesick. Maybe your right, I need to make do with what's right here, in front of me."

He carefully put the bagpipes down on the couch, and wrapped his arms around Laura in a solid grip. He placed his lips over hers, and kissed her soundly.

Laura gasped as he released her from the passionate clinch. "Wow." She said. "Where…?"

He gave her a sly grin. "Good lungs, me."

0o0o0

"Rodney?" She stood next to him in the mess hall the next day, before she headed for the serving hatch.

"Huh? Oh, Cadman, it's you."

"Any better last night?"

"No, not really. Do you think I'm being punished for leaving my cat behind?"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "No, Rodney, I don't. I think you just need to relax more, and if you don't want to be grounded, you'd better be nicer to Carson…"

"Oh. Right. Good point. So…um… you think maybe I've worked it out of my system now?"

"Sure. I bet you won't have any more nightmares. Trust me."

As Laura gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek, she decided that everything had turned out just perfectly for everyone.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about that. Couldn't help it... 


	6. The Art of Science

**A/N:** For saclateri, Dr.Dredd, Nebulan and dahan, who will each know why ;)

**Additional Edit:** PurpleYin pointed out the similarity of a moment in this fic to the conversation between Sam and McKay in the SG-1 episode Redemption. Can you believe I've still never seen that episode? I have now read the transcript ;) Nothing new under the sun, eh?

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**Chapter Six: The Art of Science**

The coloured glass door slid noiselessly aside and Dr Rodney McKay stepped out onto the balcony. He looked out at the ocean, and then down at the still form on the deck.

"Carson?" McKay's tone was even and without a hint of shock. "What the hell are you doing?"

Dr Carson Beckett looked up at his friend. "Same as you - enjoying my day off."

McKay rolled his eyes. "I meant, what precisely are you doing down there?"

"What does it look like? I'm sunbathing." The Chief Surgeon was fully-clothed, but lying stretched out with his arms behind his head, enjoying the sunshine.

McKay shivered and began to zip up his jacket. "Carson. It's fifteen below. How can you be sunbathing?"

"You're exaggerating as usual, Rodney. It must be at least ten degrees. Join me, man. It's a beautiful day." He watched to see what the Canadian was going to do.

McKay made a great fuss of lowering himself down, to sit on the deck beside Beckett. "Knowing you're using centigrade makes it marginally more acceptable, but I don't know how you can sit out here doing nothing." McKay rested his arms on his knees and gazed out over the water.

Beckett kept quiet, and the two men shared companionable silence for a while, breathing in the cool air as the sun shone down on them.

With his easy Scottish brogue, Beckett offered, "I was watching the clouds go by, Rodney. That one looks right like a rabbit." He pointed straight up.

McKay screwed up his face in disgust. "A rabbit? What are you, six years old?"

Beckett chuckled softly. "Lighten up, man. Tell me. What do you see in the clouds?"

McKay sighed heavily and lay down flat on deck. He looked up into the sky and squinted. "OK. Mostly cumulus, with some cirrus. Nothing special."

Beckett shook his head, tutting. "Can you not see shapes, Rodney? Have you no imagination?"

"Give me a break, Carson. I'm a real scientist. Personally, I get excited about altocumulus lenticularis, and that's as far as it goes. No rabbits, no Chrysler buildings." He sighed, "I always knew you weren't a serious scientist."

Beckett smiled wryly and, after a pause, said, "I agree, Rodney, in a way."

"What?" McKay sat up quickly, staring at his friend. "You agree?"

Beckett lay there with his eyes shut. "Aye. Medicine is about more than science. I've always thought that."

"I don't follow."

Beckett looked at McKay with a dimpled smile. "Medicine is about art, Rodney. You have to see more than just what is in front of you. A person is like a cloud - you can't give them a label. You need more than science. You need the eyes and hands of an artist, to see how to help folk, because no two people are the same. If you try and follow a set of scientific rules, patients might die. I'm more than a scientist, I'm an artist."

McKay had listened quietly to Beckett's heartfelt explanation. He smiled cautiously. "Oh."

Beckett shrugged. "Ach. I'm just blethering, never mind me. Lie down and enjoy the sun, Rodney."

McKay shuffled down again, and took some deep breaths, his hands linked over his chest. He looked up into the sky again. "Hey, is that…?"

"Aye." Beckett agreed. "A dead ringer for Caldwell. Good this art thing, isn't it?"

McKay gave him a sly grin, and nodded, "Yeah. Pretty good, Carson. Pretty good."

* * *

**A/N:** What a load of blethers ;) Hope you enjoyed it anyway! 


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